


Potoo

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Vignette, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis goes full mother hen on his unruly chicks.





	Potoo

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When Noctis first began his training, he was escorted to the yard by his father or Gladiolus. Then he grew into a somewhat capable teenager, and the task fell on his own shoulders to make the bulk of his appointments. Now that he’s proven unable to take complete care of himself, Ignis is back to dropping him off and picking him up. When the king asks, Ignis tends to slightly fudge the truth and say that Noctis is doing well, living outside the Citadel and being his own man. But privately, Ignis knows his beloved prince is quite often helpless without him. 

Picking Noctis up isn’t any different. He can’t just wait by the car any longer, expecting Noctis to come out on time—not like when he was a child ambling out of the schoolyard at the first ring of the bell. Ignis waits five minutes in the car park, resisting the urge to continually check his watch, then gives up with a sigh and wanders into the building.

Evidently, Noctis’ session is over—neither he nor Gladiolus is amongst the handful of glaives currently working out. Ignis circles the outside of the yard, not for his own safety, given that he could take on most of those present, but simply to save time. As soon as he enters the locker room at the back, he knows he’s found his prince—he can hear Noctis and Gladiolus amiably teasing one another over their match: apparently Noctis (albeit arguably) won. 

He rounds the line of lockers and finds Noctis sitting on a bench, tying up his boots, clothes sweat-slicked and hair a mess. Those things are to be expected. What makes Ignis’ steps falter is the state of his wings—Ignis has never seen such splendor in such disarray.

Under normal circumstances, Noctis is like every Lucian prince before him: blessed with gorgeous, enormous, glossy black wings that would put any bird to shame. Ignis has always found Noctis’ particularly appealing, and not just because he’s so very fond of Noctis in particular. Noctis has the sort of feathers that look lovely whatever he does, and even when he’s been even lazier than usual in regards to their upkeep, they tend to shimmer luxuriously.

Now they’re the most disheveled excuse for wings Ignis has ever seen. Several feathers are crinkled and bent at awkward angles, others utterly frayed, and almost every quill is caked in mud. The overall picture is more brown than black, devoid of their telltale glimmer. Ignis can feel his own wings rustling uneasily at the mere sight of it. He’s never had a more visceral reaction to Noctis’ neglect. 

Noctis cuts off his latest jibe at spotting Ignis, and he nods his head in greeting, throwing out a casual, “Iggy.”

Ignis stalks forward. He swats Noctis’ hand away from the laces, then kneels down to rip the boot clean off. Noctis yelps in surprise, but Ignis is already unlacing the other one. In his peripherals, he catches Gladiolus wandering over. Gladiolus’ gigantic eagles’ wings are outstretched, and, like Noctis’, it looks like he _can’t_ yet fold them back. They must be too sore to move. 

Gladiolus is someone else’s problem. Ignis cares for him, but taking care of Noctis is Ignis’ whole life, and he’s not about to stop now. When he gets the second boot off, he rises up again and rounds on Gladiolus. The fury must be obvious on his face, because Gladiolus instantly stiffens. 

“What did you _do_?”

“What?”

“His wings, Gladio, what did you do to them!”

“It was a work out—” Gladiolus grunts defensively, but he cuts off at Ignis’ tirade.

“He’s your _prince_ , and you bent his wings! Of all the irresponsible, idiotic moves... honestly, you’re his shield; you’re meant to protect him, not... not _sully_ him like this! Even the Imperial soldiers will have enough decency not to attack his wings!”

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, he did all that damage by himself?”

A hand brushes lightly over his wrist, tugging at his sleeve. Noctis mutters, “Iggy, it’s fine—”

That gives Ignis license to round on him. “And _you_! What were you thinking? What if you’re photographed like this? What will your father say?”

Noctis’ cheeks flush pink. Looking thoroughly chastised, he drops his grip on Ignis’ hand. Ignis moves around the bench to come behind him, already trying to think of how to undo all the damage. It’ll probably take several rounds of shampooing and half a dozen hands working through the night. He’d make Gladiolus do it, as punishment for causing the problem in the first place, but at the moment, he’s not about to trust such a delicate task to such a clueless meathead. He starts massaging the base while he talks—they’ll at least need to be able to fold the wings in order to get Noctis’ shirt off and get him properly washed. Noctis winces when Ignis tries to set them back—apparently, it’s bad enough that he’ll have to shower with his shirt on.

“Never mind the safety aspect—if there is an attack, he’ll never be able to fly away in this state. And the weight of all that mud is going to ruin his already poor posture. Oh, and what this’ll do to your apartment, Noct... it’s going to get everywhere... I’ll be washing out dirt stains for a month...”

Noctis tries another small, “Ignis...” but when he sees the burning look in Ignis’ eyes, he finishes with a lame, “Sorry,” and clamps his mouth shut. Ignis has to give up working in the back—there’s too much dirt to see what he’s doing. So he goes around the front again and grabs Noctis’ bicep, guiding him up off the bench.

He ushers Noctis sternly back towards the showers. There he begins the very long process of grooming his unwieldy friend, with Gladiolus’ disgruntled help and Noctis’ meek promise that he’ll behave better next time.


End file.
